Mud On The Tires
by brickbatz
Summary: CHRIS/WESKER - Summary: A young and feisty Chris Redfield can't keep himself out of trouble. But he's about to meet Albert Wesker, the one man who thinks he can change that.  Something that may or may not go somewhere! Rated for later chapters.
1. Speeding Ticket

Title: Mud on the Tires  
>Author: Brickbatz<br>Pairing: Chris/Wesker

Summary: A young and feisty Chris Redfield can't keep himself out of trouble. But he's about to meet Albert Wesker, the one man who thinks he can change that.

Timetabling for the whole RPD building was carried out by a skinny little woman called Janice Fletcher. She had permed red hair, and the sort of massive round glasses you only saw on a receptionist, that made her eyes look a little two large, exaggerating her expression of disinterest and distrust. She was young, too, despite acting older than his grandmother. That was the worst part.

Chris Redfield didn't like Janice Fletcher, nor did she like him. She didn't like many people, he could tell.

"Can you tell me again why you're here?" The receptionist in a monotone, bored voice as she flicked through her master folder of timetables. She wasn't really listening.

"To speak to the Captain of STARS regarding a job. You know, 'employment'?" Chris repeated, the slightest hint of his distress displayed in his voice.

"I'm afraid the Captain is not in town today, Mr… ?"

"Redfield. It's Redfield, I told you already. Look, how can that be true? I saw him walking up the steps when I arrived. I followed him in! At least direct me to the STARS office?"

As Chris stared at the stupid woman, he couldn't help thinking they'd be far better off without her. Anyone could do her job without so much distain and repetitiveness. She worked in a police station, for Christ's sake! Hell, even he could do it better. He needed work. STARS personnel, receptionist, it was all the same to him.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr Redfield." Janice Fletcher suddenly addressed him with authority. Chris resisted rolling his eyes. He hated people like this, who squared up to you as soon as they thought they had a little jurisdiction. "No unauthorized personnel beyond the visitors doors. Is there anything else I can do for you? Someone I could… call?"

He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to ask politely for whatever he may want to settle with in place of his original request. She wanted him to play nice and say 'please could you just try the office?' so he could wait whilst she made it obvious he was wasting his own time and the precious hours of her day when she could be chatting to Andrea in administration about why men were all bastards. He wasn't giving her that pleasure. He'd dealt with enough snobs like her before. Chris Redfield didn't hate many people, but he seriously struggled to tolerate people who exhibited more authority than they held, especially against him.

"No, thank you, Miss… ?" He mimicked with a forced politeness. "You've done your best. I will take _no_ more of your time."

It almost made him laugh to say it as he stood up straight and flashed her the classic Redfield smile that said 'you've made an enemy today'. He wanted to laugh, really badly wanted to, and to bow out of the room. Holding off until he was out the RPD building doors and out of her eye line, Chris finally celebrated his victory with a smirk and a cigarette. As he lit up, he struggled to figure out how he'd ended up here, chasing the Captain of an elite police unit, desperate for a job.

It had happened whilst he was staying at Barry's house with Claire. Asking him to stay well out of the way, 'for your own sanity' Barry had said, Burton had thrown a poker night for his comrades from STARS. Five of them had shown up, including the one with the moustache they called Captain throughout the night, and Chris had ignored the request from his friend to avoid the kitchen. About two or three hours into the evening, he'd wandered in there, under the pretence of fetching something for his sister and somehow – he swore he didn't start it – Chris had gotten into an argument about police work not being difficult and was told he'd never last five minutes in STARS.

Thus it began. The decision that the next place he'd be employed would be the RPD was instant, if only to show those bastards. Chris had a terrible habit of setting his mind to things.

Now, sitting in the courtyard of the station with no idea how to go about it, it didn't seem like such a grand scheme. Why would he want to work there anyway? He'd have to see that foul woman every day. And besides, it was much tougher work than anything he'd been doing since his run-in with the air force. He probably couldn't hack it anymore. Why would he want to?

_To prove yourself, prove to yourself that you're not useless, that you've actually got a future._

Nope, he couldn't think of one reason. Not one.

Chris headed down the steps to the car park, buckling up his helmet, and sped out into the streets on his motorcycle. Nothing like driving too fast to make you feel like life had a purpose.

Albert Wesker didn't like to think about the job whilst he wasn't there, partaking in it. It was the easiest way to navigate a double life and such a heavy schedule. On days when he partook in research activities with Dr Birkin, away from the RPD, he didn't like having to behave like a policeman. STARS was glamorous, for sure. He'd built a life around it, much like Birkin had built a life outside of the corporation around his wretched wife and tiny brat. But when it came down to it, half of his work in STARS consisted of ordinary policing, paperwork and giving 'talks' to the people who did exactly the same thing.

Every time he saw a display of crime outside of his working hours with the RPD, Wesker had two choices. The first was to stop, and use his authority in a situation that demanded it. It was like making a sacrifice for the greater good. It always ruined his afternoon. The second was to walk right on by, pretend he wasn't an officer of the law, like he did when he was at the Arklay Facility, and revel in the fact that somebody probably got injured because he couldn't be bothered. The idea made him smile. The mere concept was entertaining. If he was an expert at one thing, it was turning a blind eye to someone's needs and relishing in their pain.

Wesker always stopped.

He drove himself crazy with it. William joked that he'd finally become his other persona, the one that cared for the masses.

As he drove down the freeway, he reflected silently on his day. Growth in one of the subject's cellular structure had astounded some of the assistants, and they'd almost had a spill. A few years back that would have been the most exciting day all week. Usually hours were spent pouring over formulae and Petri dishes, discussing all the possibilities that could happen with a certain chemical reaction instead of just trying it to see. Working for Umbrella was a pain, although a necessary one in the grand scheme of things. Still, he couldn't help but hope for something exciting to shoot by and spice up his existence a little.

Chris laid on the speed again as he hit the freeway. He knew there was still a speed limit in place until he reached route 435 but it felt good to abuse the accelerator. If he got back to Barry's family home in Stoneville in time to pick Claire up from school he'd be a happy man. She never seemed as happy to see him now she was in High School. He knew how these things worked; she was probably too 'cool' to be seen with her big brother now. He didn't care. Whether she liked it or not, she was getting a ride home, he thought smugly. He wanted to spend the afternoon with her even if she didn't feel the same.

The brunette weaved through the light traffic with practiced ease, not even having to slow as he passed delicately between an 18-wheeler and a jeep. He shot down the freeway, leather jacket flapping about his chest. Flying down the open road like this reminded Chris time and again why he enjoyed being out of the air force so much. He couldn't be fenced in - he was a free spirit. He didn't need all their rules and codes. He didn't need their authority. Nothing in the world could stop him doing whatever he felt like, whenever he felt like it.

Wesker was eager to get a safe distance from the laboratory so he wouldn't have to think about it anymore, until he was due back there in twelve weeks time to check on everyone's progress. Maxing out his speed to the full 70 limit, the Captain took a moment to appreciate the roar of the engine in his four by four. It was a satisfying sound, a sort of animalistic growl that dominated the passing scenery and other cars.

A motorcycle appeared in his rear view. He hated the things. Why anyone want to ride something with two wheels, exposed to the elements, was beyond him. He diverted his eyes back to the road for a second, and then it was upon him. It must have been going at least fifteen over the limit. He could ignore it. Today, he decided, he would. He had places to be.

That was, until the motorcyclist decided to try and overtake. He increased his speed a little, pulling up in the next lane alongside an 18-Wheeler.

The motorcyclist sped up again. Reckless, but it wasn't Wesker's fault if the bastard crashed now. He'd quite enjoy it. He was almost tempting the man to challenge his fate and try and overtake between the two vehicles.

The man's speed didn't falter. Wesker wasn't impressed. He didn't want a RTA on his hands. The 18-Wheeler swerved slightly towards him, the rear end narrowly missing clipping the motorcycle as the reckless driver slipped between the two vehicles and sped ahead of them, disappearing up the road.

Wesker wasted no time, hot in pursuit. He _was_ over the speed limit, and a little bastard for doing something so ridiculous without hesitation and pulling it off. He put his foot down until he was tailgating the bike. As much as he hated to admit it, he was impressed.

Chris groaned in frustration behind his helmet as he realised what was happening. A cop was just his luck. He should have noticed the STARS badge on the passenger door. It wouldn't just be 'points on his license' either; he'd had that twice already. If he got lucky, he'd get off with a final warning and an invitation to one of those 'road safety' seminars. Or he could be seeing Janice Fletcher much sooner than he'd hoped. Or… he could see the exit up ahead for Stoneville. Perhaps he could pretend he hadn't realized it was a cop car and slip past into one of the smaller alleyways off the main road there, and then he'd reach the 435 and everything would be fine. It'd be a good test of what this old bike could do. Chris wasn't a criminal, he really wasn't… but he really couldn't be asked with this right now. And if he didn't get away with it, he could always play the ignorant American approach. Barry was sure to bail him out later. Without indication, Chris took the exit at the last second and swerved down the slip road, losing sight of the jeep.

Contrary to popular belief, Janice Fletcher didn't hate everyone. She had a few friends in the administration department and numerous acquaintances outside of the work place, many of which she was partial to a good night out with. And then, of course, there was Captain Wesker.

He wasn't supposed to be in that day, so she found herself pleasantly surprised to see him marching up to the reception. He had that irritating young man with him, the sarcastic one that had bothered her earlier. In cuffs. Wesker was brilliant, she'd always thought so, and undeniably handsome.

"Good afternoon, Captain," She beamed, sitting back a little and straightening up.

"I need a R45 incident form." He always cut to the chase. But that was okay; at least he was looking at her.

"Right away," Janice fluttered, passing a fleeting gaze of utter satisfaction over the irritating youth. Finding the form immediately, she handed it to Wesker as carefully as she could and gave him her best smile. "You have messages, Captain. Three calls this morning-"

"I'll be by later." He quickly responded and walked away with the form. That was Wesker all over, straight, and to the point. She could have swooned.

Chris frowned, watching the display in horror. He could have laughed at the way the bastard cop had snapped at the horrible redhead receptionist but watching her make flirty eyes at him behind those glasses was too much for him.

"I can take it from here, Captain." Barry declared with a long sigh as he entered the holding room. He rubbed his temples vigorously.

Chris was lounging back on his plastic seat, one leg crossed over the other and his arms resting limply on top of it. He really needed a cigarette. He was irritated, not only because his little escape plan had failed, or that he'd missed picking Claire up, but because the sunglass-toting blonde in front of him was such a jerk.

The blonde jerk sat across from him, behind a desk, one vexed eyebrow raised as he filled in paperwork about the incident. He didn't look up as Barry entered. "Do you two know each other? How nice." He said sarcastically, signing the form off. He'd barely said a thing since he'd first pulled Chris over, just three miles from where he'd begun pursuing him. There he'd grilled the brunette, and hadn't hesitated to cuff him and force him into the four by four. Chris hadn't even had a chance to ask about his bike before the cop had lifted that into the back too.

Barry didn't spare the blonde a second look. He had to be the first person Chris had seen in the station that hadn't. He looked up sheepishly at the older man as Barry stopped in front of him and sighed again.

"What happened Chris?"

"I was just heading home." Chris put simply. He could practically feel the irritation radiating from the blonde.

"Twenty over the speed limit." The cop added.

"I was going to pick Claire up from school." Chris ignored the blonde's interjection. Barry, however, did not. He looked over to the Captain for further explanation.

"He attempted to avoid pursuit." The elusive man stated, sliding the paperwork over to the other side of the desk. Barry picked it up and frowned, scanning it over and looking very disappointed.

"I will leave it with you, Mr. Burton."

He stood from his desk, glancing over at Chris and scowling, before swiftly leaving the room.

Barry sighed and leant back against the desk, waiting until the cop was out of earshot. "You're lucky he didn't take your license away."

"I know it was stupid," Chris began his defence. "I was enjoying myself a little too much, I didn't notice my speed…"

The older man tapped the report sheet. "It says here you turned down an alleyway and attempted escape over a fence still riding your bike. Chris… What were you thinking?"

"I was… caught up in the moment?" Chris offered, shrugging slightly. Today was turning out to be a really shit day. "What's the damage?"

"Nothing, lucky for you."

"What?"

Barry handed the sheet over to Chris. "No points on your license, you're free to go. You're lucky Wesker's such a reasonable man."

Chris read the sheet over again and again, looking for something he might have missed. Barry was right. "Maybe it was a mistake?" He said in disbelief. 'Reasonable man' didn't seem like a likely description for the cop who'd shoved him unnecessarily hard into the back of a vehicle and then snapped at a harmless receptionist. The older man shook his head.

"He doesn't make mistakes. If I were you I'd just get on home – I need to get back to work."

"What about my bike? Jerk-off had it in his jeep."

Barry shot him a warning look. The younger man just shrugged slightly. He wasn't going to take it back. No matter how 'reasonable' the blonde had been.

"I'll bring it back with me later. Take the train, alright? Here," Barry fished his wallet out and passed Chris twenty dollars. "Chris?"

"Mmm – hmm?"

"Try and stay out of trouble, alright?"

There we are! Chapter 1. Shorter than most of my first story chapters but this is the first thing I've written in almost a year. Let me know what you think!


	2. Urban Hero

Title: Mud on the Tires  
>Author: Brickbatz<br>Pairing: Chris/Wesker

Summary: A young and feisty Chris Redfield can't keep himself out of trouble. But he's about to meet Albert Wesker, the one man who thinks he can change that.

A/N - I am not going to post every chapter this quick, I'm just trying to spark a little interest!

- 2 -

Something about Chris that he couldn't quite come to terms with was very 'citizen soldier'. He often felt the need to do a little justice when none was being served and Thursday, January 28th 1993 was one of those days. It wasn't a particularly extraordinary day; he'd simply had the feeling all day that he was ready for anything. Someone could try and shoot the President of the United States today (not that he foresaw the President passing through the quiet mountain town of Raccoon) and he'd take the bullet. As it were, nothing quite that dramatic happened.

He'd gotten up, feeling ready for anything. He'd showered, put on his work uniform, and grabbed a coffee from the take away place near his apartment, running too late for breakfast. By lunchtime, shedding his waiter's apron, Chris was starving. Life was still good, though. A lot had happened since he'd almost lost his license six months prior – especially in the form of a job that required one, making deliveries. It wasn't glamorous, but he'd saved enough money to get an apartment of his own in Raccoon, finally moving out of the Burton's place after almost a year. He still saw Claire every weekend, which was easier for her and good for him, and Chris felt like he was moving up in the world. The dodgy delivery job had become a less-dodgy waiter deal in a restaurant near-by to where he lived with double the pay and he could even afford to treat himself every few weeks. The best part was the lack of authority. Nobody told him what to do at the restaurant; he just got on with it. Sure, sometimes he missed flying, but Chris just had to accept that the air force hadn't been for him and he was much better suited to meandering through life, having a reasonably good time. Some people were.

He'd given up the hope of applying for STARS after the speeding incident, when he learnt from Barry that the Captain he'd actually been looking for was not the man with the moustache, but instead the blonde jerk. Chris didn't want to prove himself _that_ much.

But today was special. He just wasn't sure how.

The brunette sat eating his lunch by the riverbank, looking over at industrial Raccoon on the east side. Voices caught his attention; shouting from behind him. He glanced through the park to see someone running and a crowd forming. A siren rang out in the distance.

The person running wasn't just running. He was sprinting. He looked terrified and he was being chased. The man in pursuit had a gun. It was all a little 'out there' for downtown Raccoon. The brunette watched in horrified fascination.

The crack of a bullet rang out like thunder through the quiet park. The sprinter dropped like a puppet without strings and the gunner skidded and turned, as if realizing what he'd done. Chris' feet moved faster than his mind and he vaguely registered the police arriving, the sound of boots on tarmac pounding in his mind as they ran to the victim.

The gunner was fast. Chris was faster. Chris had won the 400m sprint for four years in school. Chris had beaten every speed record the air force had for running. He still kept it up every morning. These things flashed through his mind, pointlessly, as he caught up to the criminal with no idea what to do next. The gunner knew his chances were wearing thin, and he spun on his heel, aiming a shot at Chris haphazardly and firing off target, into the river.

Oh god, he thought. Oh god, he was going to get shot.

But then Chris was upon him, still not knowing what to do next, but today was a ready-for-anything day and his feet guided him, taking the gunners knees out with a kick that made something crack. He had the man on the ground, face in the dirt, and disarmed, before the police even caught up with them.

The officers surrounded them, guns drawn and aimed at the assailant. They were shouting, and asking questions, and lifting him off the gunner, taking him away.

"What is your involvement in this sir?"

"Can we get your name, sir?"

"Are you hurt in any way?"

Sat on the same bench where he was eating his lunch not half an hour before, Chris aimlessly picked at the blanket they'd wrapped him in to help 'calm the shock of the traumatic event'. He'd never understood how this was supposed to help.

An unmistakable black jeep pulled up on the roadside by the rest of the police vehicles. He'd been watching it distantly, wondering whether his boss would believe him when he was caught up in a police incident on his lunch break. He wasn't sure being a hero had achieved much today, except for preventing him from returning to work, but it had given him something – an exhilaration, a rush from the adrenaline that he hadn't felt in a long time. Chris stared at the cops, almost jealous. If he was one of them, they might have rewarded him for what he'd just done. As it was, he'd gotten nothing but warnings not to be so reckless next time and to leave it up to the forces. He was still unsure whether the victim had died, or what was going on in the first place. Maybe the gunner was in the right and he'd made a big mistake, letting him get taken in to custody. He found he didn't really care, and wondered if Barry was here instead, and trying to calm his grumbling stomach, mourning his unfinished lunch.

"Can someone explain to me what's happened today?" Wesker's low, demanding voice caught the attention of several officers who were fussing over formalities.

"Yes sir," One of them jittered, looking to the others for approval to continue.

"Well?"

"Graham Gilbert was shot, sir. Ernest Gilbert's son; you know, the businessman?"

"I am aware of who Mr. Gilbert is, yes." Wesker scowled, glancing over his sunglasses. "I am more interested in why this occurred."

"We're not sure, Captain… From what we could gather from the assailant before he was taken to the station, someone was taken away from him. The result of an affair, perhaps?"

Wesker wasn't impressed. He adjusted his sunglasses and turned away from the officers, disappointed again with the civilians he protected. This had elevated from a vehicle pursuit to a shooting and for what? A woman? It was a weak link of humanity he was sure could be its downfall.

"I dun' think there's much we're needed fer here, sir."

Wesker turned at the sound of his sub-ordinates voice. "Well Mr. Speyer, you know how it is – the police like us to waste our time showing our faces to the crowds. See if you can get any witness accounts worth detailing."

"Actually, there's a witness tha' was involved sittin' over there sir." Forest averted Wesker's attention to the brunette sitting by the riverbank.

Wesker quirked an eyebrow. Not that he was interested particularly, but he recognized that young man; the same one who'd almost outrun him on a motorcycle the previous year. "Involved how, exactly?"

"John said he took out the assailant sir. Didn' waste no time, jus' sprung on him. More trouble than it was worth." Forest said, motioning to one of the officers behind them.

"Bring him in." Wesker said after a moment of hesitation. "We'll… need his account."

"Yessir." Forest shot him a lop-sided smile and gave a haphazard salute as he headed over to the brunette.

"Hey buddy,"

Chris looked up at the approaching man, a skeptic look on his face. The man carried a rifle, and wore a bulletproof vest, but tattooed, with long hair and a common, thick southern accent, he didn't strike Chris as the RPD type.

"…Hi," He replied, equally as sceptically.

"Forest Speyer, STARS." The man offered his hand. "I'm sure yer dyin' to leave but I'm afraid we gotta ask ya to come back to the station, answer some questions an' the like."

The brunette frowned, shrugging slightly and shaking Forest's hand. "Chris. Look, I wasn't involved…"

"Either way, yer the eye witness the Captain wants. Best yer come quietly, Chris."

Chris followed, as skeptic as he'd been when Forest approached. He didn't like the idea that the blonde had asked him to be fetched, still feeling like he was going to get charged for the speeding incident.


End file.
